


Waffles

by summerrain98



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, But mostly angst, M/M, it's past midnight and this is word vomit pls forgive me, some fluff???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 23:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10978011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerrain98/pseuds/summerrain98
Summary: A drabble in which Lance finds that having feelings may be more than he signed up for while eating Hunk's space waffles."It’s the moments after battles that Lance feels the most fear. Not when Zarkon delivers blow after blow to his lion or the castle, but when he has Keith safe, within arm’s reach, breathing and alive."





	Waffles

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhhh i just finished my first year of university today and i'm dead yet i'm sat here at 1am typing up this trash sorry if there's typos and shit bc tbh i'm so tired man so here take my klangst from my unworthy hands

He realizes it over waffles. 

Or as close to waffles as you can get in space with whatever extraterrestrial ingredients Hunk’s hoarded in the kitchen. 

Yesterday had been a long day, and long days seemed to be a commonplace for them ever since they stepped into the castle. The mission that had gone on had taken a toll on them physically, mentally. With Zarkon having his hands full with nearly the entire universe, he only had his drone fleet sent after Voltron on the neighboring planet that had sent out a distress signal. Having fought Zarkon and Haggar’s grotesque and increasingly powerful weapons, _"only"_ seems appropriate compared to the duress of those particularly harrowing battles. Despite allegedly being the most revered force in the cosmos, Voltron’s paladins were only human, battered and beaten inside and out mission after mission.

It was last night after they had showered away the dust from their faces and the adrenaline from their veins that Lance held Keith’s back tight to his chest in his bunk. As of late Keith and him were treading a very thin line, on the precipice of unexplored territory, silently coming to the consensus that avoiding that line was in the best interest for Voltron. But it was nights like this, after the threat of reality came crashing down on them, quite literally, as the drones had bashed against the lions from all sides, that they allowed themselves to toe over that line, knowing that they needed to feel each other against them to know that they’re still here.

Keith’s breaths had finally slowed, feeling secure enough from the weight of Lance’s arms around him to finally drift asleep. Lance let out a breath, closing his eyes and leaning the bridge of his nose against the back of Keith’s neck, ignoring the tickling of that damn mullet against his face. 

It’s the moments after battles that Lance feels the most fear. Not when Zarkon delivers blow after blow to his lion or the castle, but when he has Keith safe, within arm’s reach, breathing and alive. It’s the moments when he brings his hand up to thumb the healing gash along Keith’s shoulder from when a drone had slammed into Red, feeling Keith’s skin under the slide of his fingers. It’s the moments when the worried lines in Keith’s face smooth out when he falls asleep and Lance is able to see him vulnerable, without a care. 

It’s these moments that Lance fears losing Keith the most. 

But each morning they redraw the line over the places where they smudged it. Lance was conscious when Keith woke up, pretending to be asleep when Keith slipped from his grip, but let a quiet sigh leave his lips after the door to Lance’s room closed behind Keith. The absence that he feels now when Keith leaves grows beyond physical. 

So now here he is, sat at breakfast, shoveling Hunk’s space waffles into his mouth at an alarming pace in his seat between Shiro and Pidge. It’s when he makes the mistake of glancing across the table that he realizes.  
Keith’s sitting there, the same wrinkled red basketball shorts and black tank top that he had worn to bed last night on his body. His eyes were still puffy with sleep, the warm brown in them focused on the slice of waffle dangling from his fork. The lines of muscle in his arms from countless hours of training lead up to that cut on his shoulder, still red and fresh. He may be eating at a less barbaric pace then Lance, but he sports a lot more crumbs along the corners of his mouth and cheeks. 

And then Lance realizes that he knows. 

He knows that he can’t go a day without seeing Keith’s eyes, or his arms, or his dumb crumb-covered lips. He can’t go a day without seeing the way Keith smiles when Pidge makes a joke about the way Lance has too much waffle stuffed in his cheeks, or how Keith’s lashes are too damn long to belong on a boy, or how his black hair curls around the base of his neck. He can’t go a day without seeing the fire in Keith’s eyes when they’re on a mission, without the sound of Keith’s voice when he calls Lance out on his bullshit, without the feeling of Keith in his arms. 

He realizes that he knows he can’t go a day without Keith.

He had skirted around the fact until now, when it’s quite literally staring him in the face. The realization bubbles up warm from his chest, reaching his cheeks in a tinge of pink. Keith looks up from his plate and asks Lance if he’s alright, he looks a bit warm.

And yeah, Lance is okay. It’s all okay.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my very first time posting any of my work anywhere, so comments and suggestions are super appreciated!


End file.
